


Denim

by lamagicienne



Series: Shades of Blue [6]
Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rivalry, Slow Build, Unrequited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamagicienne/pseuds/lamagicienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Like I care what you see or don’t. You think you know what makes me tick but you’d be surprised how much you’re getting it wrong.”<br/>At this point, Michael doesn’t consider himself the one who is in for a surprise. </p><p>Shades of Blue series VI (Tyler Clary/Michael Phelps, Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I

The day it finally happens has in no way been very different from many previous ones Michael spent in Ann Arbor so far. He held a class in the morning (never his best time of the day and he’ll be damned if the kids haven’t figured that one out yet), went swimming himself over lunch break when literally nobody else was around and in the late afternoon, he finds himself on Skype with Bob, both sitting in their respective cubbyhole.   

Through the windowpane, Michael can see the lanes of the Natatorium where the long distance group is at practice. Things are busy right now with trials for Barcelona coming up in a week. Maybe that is the reason why the strange incident at Jon’s birthday party triggered no repercussions.

The days immediately after, Michael halfway expected someone to come up to him and outright ask what the hell he meant by his remark to Tyler. Nothing happens, of course. Everybody is busy with their own stuff – and even if they caught on the weird phrasing, the idea is so outlandish that they wouldn’t give it a second thought.   

It’s been on his own mind ever since, though. He never came closer to speaking openly to Tyler – not that he ever intended to. What is there to gain? But he’s been weirdly antsy about the whole issue ever since that day. Even now that it’s more or less clear that none of Tyler’s teammates will confront him about what was said, he still feels that something is in the air, a kind of foreboding.

He vaguely entertains the thought of telling Bob about how he handled the Clary situation so far. But what is he to say, seriously? _Well, you know, you were kind of right about Clary, it seems. Caught him checking me out at the dinner table the other night and now he can’t look me in the eye anymore. Oh, and Cavic kind of knows – couldn’t keep my trap shut, I’m afraid._

That’s not a conversation Michael wants to hold. The one with Milorad on that very topic after Jon’s party was weird enough.

(“It’s not healthy, man. Provoking him like this. And with other people present? Seriously?”

They cut out on the carrot juice, instead Milorad told a couple of stories about drinking games in Kragujevac and how he’d have to squint to avoid having to participate. Sugar-free soft-drinks, it is, on the patio behind Cavic’s house which is located a block or so from Michael’s own.  

“I just told you – I didn’t say it on purpose. It just slipped out.”

“You believe it, then?” Milorad looks at him and his eyes are neither mocking nor scorning. Not for the first time, Michael thinks that he’s come such a long way from the loudmouthed, trash-talking kid who provoked Michael into gloating about a victory all those years ago in Rome. “I asked him about that, you know. In London. I asked why you two hate each other so much. Turns out I couldn’t have been further off, huh?”

Michael shrugs. “I don’t know if I believe it.”

Milorad smiles. “You believe enough of it to say stuff like that. You were kind of lucky nobody really caught it. Maybe you should verify first and speak up after? Just a hint.”

“Not an option.”

“Why? Afraid of what might happen?”

Michael snorts. “The only thing I can see happening is he thinking I’m pulling his leg, or he’ll take me serious and jump into my face.”

“I’d say he’ll start a fistfight before he admits to it.”

“Exactly. Even if it’s true he’ll deny it, so what’s the point bringing it up?”

Cavic laughs. “Well, if you prefer sitting on your ass… But you’ll end up doing something stupid sooner or later, mark my words.” 

Michael just grins. “Stupid? Me?”)

So instead of speaking what’s really on his mind these days, he’s listening to Bob talk about Chase, Conor and Allison preparing for trials and about Yannick Agnel’s recent move to Baltimore. Michael shares some funny highlights about his own students and finds himself quickly focusing on what Dave got up to during class just this morning.

“But the problem is not so much what he’s doing. I mean, he’s little – but he totally knows what he’s after. It’s all an act to get me to take notice of him, you understand?”

“I do. Chances are he’s seeking the attention his parents probably withhold from him.”

“That’s exactly what Jon said and what I’ve also been thinking, but how am I going to solve that? It’s not like I can call his folks and say, Hey, we don’t know each other and it’s totally not my business but is it possible that you’ve been neglecting your child recently?”

“I don’t think that would be a wise move on your part.”

“See?”

“Well, give it to him, then. The attention.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not during swim training, of course. But there are other possibilities – you see that kid four times a week, don’t you? Coaching children that age means you’re a mixture of father and older brother for them.”

Not for the first time it occurs to Michael how Bob when they both met for the first time wasn’t that much older than he is now.  

“It’s not so hard. Just talk to him, show an active interest. You will see it pays off during practice.”

“Yeah, because I’ve obviously nothing else to do.”

“Dude, you _have_ nothing else to do”, Cavic teases, passing by behind Michael, coffee mug in hand, to take a seat on the other side of the desk.

Michael doesn’t deign to answer registering Dave’s numerous faults instead. “The truth is he’s a pain in the ass. He’s wild – and sassy. He can never just leave it be when I tell him off, he _always_ has to talk back.”

Bob remains silent for a few seconds. “Did I ever tell you that I was a crybaby?” 

“Er – no?” Michael isn’t sure the idea of his old coach as a wailing infant is something he can handle.

Bob gives a ponderous nod. “According to my parents, I screamed myself hoarse night and day for the first six, eight months or so. They suffered a lot from that.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“In later years, they would mention on occasion that they wished me a child just like I had been one.” 

“Oh, burn.”   

Milorad cracks up in the background which has Michael finally getting out of his chair, grabbing Cavic by the shoulders, walking him away from the desk they are sharing and towards the door. “Why don’t you do something… somewhere else,” he suggests.

“Like what?” Milorad asks over his shoulder, still laughing, as Michael shoves him into the Natatorium. Immediately, upon stepping over the threshold, they are surrounded by a cloud of echoing noises and chlorine scent. Mike Bottom is standing close to the pool, his back to them, alternately checking out how his long distance swimmers are holding up.

Identifying Clary in lane six is easy – not only because of all the swimmers here , he’s the one whose style Michael is most familiar with, but who else would be wearing their national team swim cap during practice, Michael thinks and –  

And then he sees it. He sees what‘s been missing. 

“Huh?” Milorad inquires eloquently on Michael freezing all of a sudden.

This is a bad idea, Michael knows. Ridiculous, too, probably. It’s kind of silly to assume that by one glance he can detect some weakness Mike Bottom has failed to register yet and pointed out to his swimmer. But maybe after that long a time, Michael’s bound to notice things that others who watch Tyler do his dolphin kicks day in day out wouldn’t. So wouldn’t it border on criminal intent or at least failure to render assistance if the situation calls for it if he stayed silent?

It doesn’t have to be a catastrophe, does it? Maybe Tyler will even appreciate Michael making some sort of effort.

 _Well, give it to him, then._ Bob’s words echo in his ears. _The attention._

“Send him in, okay?” Michael says, eyes still on Tyler in the water. “When they’re finished. I want to tell him something.”

“Um, you sure that’s a good idea?” Milorad asks.

“Not what you’re thinking,” Michael retorts, not knowing if it isn’t a bad sign that Cavic immediately detected that Michael must be referring to Clary.  

“Think he’ll like being bossed around by you?”

“Well, tell him to _please_ come in,” Michael stresses.

“Okay, okay,” Milorad holds up his hands.

Satisfied, Michael goes back to the desk and flops down in his chair. “Sorry for the interruption.”

Bob’s expression turns from amused to thoughtful. “How is your father doing?” he asks.

“I have to call him,” Michael murmurs. He intended doing so for quite a while, but his days are busy – not only with coaching, but also with sponsorship events, the occasional golf lesson and recently, a sort-of relationship with a likewise ever-busy woman. How is he supposed to regularly check on Fred when he can’t even manage calling his mother or Bob every once in a while?

He could do it now, Michael muses halfheartedly after he and Bob hung up and casts a look at the desk phone. Except that he won’t, Michael knows even as he considers the idea. Instead he catches up on emails and a proposal for a beneficial event his agent forwarded to him. Before long, a familiar voice disrupts his thoughts.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

When Michael’s eyes fasten on the clock over the door, it’s not a conscious gesture. He really wants to know how much time he spent with the proposal. He isn’t trying to imply that Tyler was wasting his precious time by showing up late – even if it _is_ kind of obvious that the younger swimmer dawdled on purpose just to leave no doubt about his priorities. Practice is long over.

Anyway, it’s a bad start to a conversation Clary obviously isn’t looking forward to in the first place.

“Yes. I saw you at practice today and I noticed something –“

“That’s what you wanted to talk about? My swimming?”

What else would they have to talk about? Michael wonders.  

“Not your swimming, your turns,” he specifies. “Why are they so shitty now?” And then he surprises himself by adding, “They used to be better than mine.”

If part of him believed that a statement such as this might mellow Tyler’s attitude – that the younger swimmer might take it as a compliment – and make him more approachable, that plan backfired on him. If anything Tyler feels soft-pedaled – and that is always something bad.   

Tyler’s mouth hardens perceptibly and his eyes search in Michael’s face as if suspecting some sinister ulterior motive behind the compliment – which isn’t that hard considering it comes mixed with a bashing. “I really don’t see how my turns are your business.”

“Technically, they’re not, but you’re supposed to swim one or two of my own events in Spain in a few weeks from now, so I take an interest.”

“That’s bullshit, Michael, and we both know it. You’ve never given a damn about how anybody besides yourself is doing, why would you start now?”

Michael blinks.

“If anything,” Tyler ups the ante, “you’d try to get anybody down who comes anywhere close to your own level – or might do so in five years from then. I mean, tell me. Did you ever try to help anyone on the team? To encourage anyone?”

He’s talking about himself, of course. For once, he’s not even hiding his bitterness about the way Michael never took him seriously.

“I don’t know, Tyler. You always did a pretty good job encouraging yourself. If we’re talking about you, that is. All hypothetically, I mean.”

Usually, people’s eyes narrow when they’re pissed off; Tyler’s just become larger and clearer. They’re standing close enough for Michael to get a good view of them, their coloring. Completely blue eyes are rare, aren’t they? Tyler’s are of such a light blue, they’re almost translucent. As if they’re unable to block any incoming impression. As if any slight handed to him will just get through.

He’s so young, Michael thinks with something close to perplexity. Of course, he’s always known that Tyler is his junior, by almost four years no less. But it’s more than that.

He’s a young twenty-four – the result of a sheltered upbringing, never feeling out of place anywhere and with anybody (except when it comes to Michael himself, maybe), a sheltered career if there is such a thing, never having to shoulder a load he wasn’t over-prepared for by waiting for it to come around… like London.

 “All hypothetically,” Michael suggests, “shall we talk about those turns of yours?”

“No, we shan’t.” Tyler doesn’t miss a beat.

Fair enough, Michael decides. “Don’t neglect them, just because I pointed them out, okay? Remember what happened in London – they won you an Olympic title.”

“No. What happened is that you didn’t believe I’d ever do _any_ thing in swimming and then I won Olympic gold.”

“One hell of a race.” Michael’s voice is even, though he can feel the tug at the corners of his mouth. “I watched it.”

Predictably, that confession puts Tyler off his game for a second, but he quickly gets his act together. “Like I care what you see or don’t. You think you know what makes me tick but you’d be surprised how much you’re getting it wrong.”

At this point, Michael doesn’t consider himself to be the one who is in for a surprise.

Before long, he thinks, he will have to put an end to this and now is as good a time for this than any other. As it happens, there is a very easy solution to their little problem, Michael muses, one that doesn’t require a lot of discussion.

Slowly, deliberately, he places a hand on the wall next to Tyler’s head, watches those transparent eyes widen even further. It’s a mystery to him how they can be that open and that defiant at the same time.

“I know,” he says, “you really have no fucking clue what’s going on.”

And then he crosses that space between them.


	2. Two

II 

As a general rule, swimmers are touchy-feely people. Probably all athletes are, but Tyler somewhat lacks comparison with other disciplines. The community he’s been part of for the better part of his life thrives on physical contact anyway, on hugs and high-fives before and after races, on elbows, shoulders, thighs touching when sitting next to each other in the ready-room or in the stands rooting for someone else. From London alone, there are shitloads of pictures on Tyler’s phone of his teammates sprawled all over each other asleep on the bus between the Aquatic Center and the Village.

There comes a point when you are part of a team, travelling and training together, when you know the others literally from their scent, from the shampoo or deodorant they are using. In Vichy, Tyler could pick up somebody’s jacket and immediately think _Missy’s_ or _Conor’s_. That’s how close you get with your teammates, how familiar with every single one of them. Their voices are echoing in your head before you fall asleep every night, their laughter.

The same thing happened when he was swimming for Club Wolverine in college. It made for a different kind of bonding experience and would take somewhat longer than while on the national team (because they didn’t see each other 24x7) but also come more natural to them (because they were leading lives on campus, working their training into their otherwise tight schedules). That shared focus on working with your body brings a kind of physical closeness that sitting in a class on programming languages just doesn’t – for those who cared about being a part of this team anyway. It’s probably safe to assume that there was a certain effort involved to make it that way since Tyler can name at least one person who remained aloof of all that.

Maybe that is also the reason why, to this day, Tyler can count the times that he and Michael touched on one hand.  

The first two times happened in Ann Arbor. And the very first touch wasn’t a handshake. He and Michael were never formally introduced to one another. Michael never bothered and Tyler got enough to see of him and his behavior during the first days at Canham to never bother, either. He just watched instead and put all his efforts into making Michael’s own training group.  

One evening, then, they were driving somewhere – Tyler doesn’t remember whose car they were in, but they were going to a barbecue at someone’s house. There was a whole group of them, all swimmers probably. When they were getting out of the car, someone opened the trunk which made Michael retreat from that door and nearly stumble backwards into Tyler.

As if sensing him – or rather: sensing somebody standing there, Michael extended a hand behind himself, seeking his balance maybe, or blocking that unknown entity out, reflexively. For maybe two seconds, the flat of said hand came to rest on Tyler’s thigh.

The heat of that unconscious touch was what attracted Tyler’s attention. It lingered. Long after Michael had removed his hand, Tyler watched him from the corner of his eye, perplexed somewhat that a water-creature like Phelps would be this warm-blooded.

The second time was even more random than the first – in the locker room at the Natatorium, towards the end of Michael’s stay in Ann Arbor. One day they came to sit next to each other on one of the banks while changing after a dry-land practice and when Michael reached for something from his locker behind Tyler, his upper body brushed against Tyler’s shoulder.   

The third time was on the plane to Shanghai two years ago. They were all struggling to store their hand-luggage overhead, joking about how going to Worlds was a bit like moving to a new place. Trying to cram their belongings into the small storage units, they ended up working together, relocating trolleys and plastic bags. For a moment, Michael’s long-fingered hand came to lie half-atop of his own when they were shoving somebody else’s baggage inside. Tyler never figured out if Michael was actually aware of touching him – he flopped down next to Ryan immediately afterward, leaving Tyler to move a few steps down the flight corridor to his own seat.

The fourth time, Omaha last year, differed from all the times before in that it was a deliberate touch – or a series of touches even. A handshake when they got out of the water after the 200 fly, accompanied by some sanctimonious words. Then, as they walked back to the locker room, Michael’s hand was on the small of his back. And Tyler seems to recall that he patted the back of his head, as they were both still catching their breath. There’s photographical evidence, documented by the various cameras they were surrounded by – and at which these moves were probably aimed at. There’s also evidence of Tyler’s eyes being downcast as he walked alongside Phelps – doing his utmost not to punch his nose when thinking of the 400 IM.

Rare exceptions as those happenings were in the last five years, there is still a pattern to be noticed. Every single time it was Michael who initiated the touching, however random it may have been most of the time. Also, every time it happened in broad daylight, under the eyes of other people. It couldn’t have been any other way, actually. There were only so many opportunities when they were ever on their own with each other.  

And Tyler certainly never reached for Michael – deliberately or otherwise.

That isn’t even something he forbade himself as a reaction to Michael giving him the cold shoulder; situations just never called for it. There were never handshakes and bro-hugs involved as both of them would share with other swimmers. A nod would be all they gave each other as a greeting at meets, Tyler telling himself that he’s better of not having to deal with Michael.

The obvious fact aside that they were both working physically, Tyler’s always been concentrated on Michael’s mind, not his body. When Michael walked out on deck in Rome, in Shanghai, and even in Beijing, Tyler might have been the only person wondering not about what he would do but about what he might be thinking. That was the constant – his focus, his intensity, his ambivalence towards Tyler – and not the physical presence.

Touching Michael is a thoroughly alien concept.  

Naturally, all of this comes to Tyler’s mind only much later – when he has put some space between himself and this afternoon’s happenings – and certainly not while he is standing in the tiny room the Club Wolverine assistant coaches made into their shared office, not when Michael shares his unasked for opinion on Tyler’s turns, and not when Tyler tells him off. His thoughts are occupied with other things, with how right it feels to give Michael a piece of his mind, how he wants to do that more often, how having the undivided attention of those hazel eyes spurs such ideas. He doesn’t notice at first how calm Michael stays through it all and never even raises his voice. Instead he takes the time to tease Tyler about London.  

He does notice, of course, when Michael places a hand at the wall next to his head, effectively caging him. He even hears Michael say something about him being clueless and still he never sees it coming. There is that look again, Tyler thinks as Michael leans in. As if he knows something Tyler doesn’t, something that amuses him to no end.

Fifth time.

It’s a full-blown kiss, warm and hefty. There is nothing to mistake about it, nothing hesitant, nothing awkward. It all happens so quickly that Tyler doesn’t find his feet in time to do something against it. Michael’s lips are firm and sure and practiced, and his hands are following suite, long fingers gliding over Tyler’s face as if fixating him in place or trying to leave marks. Everything else is a blur of warm breath and tingles in all his limbs as he’s being pulled closer to the source of that clean scent of detergent, aftershave and chlorine.

By the time Tyler’s brain catches up with registering those details, he can’t say how much time has passed. It might have been a few seconds only, but Michael’s lost no time coaxing Tyler’s mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. Just a little, playfully so – Tyler thinks he might have felt him chuckle, but he himself is frozen in place, as if every movement on his part requires an unnatural effort, as if he’s encountering resistance by the very air itself.  

As if he’s surrounded by water.

And then he remembers that he has to breathe and in a rush takes in everything that’s happening and with whom. He breaks the kiss, outrage coiling like a tiny, but aggressive snake in the back of his mind.  Yet at the same time his head is strangely clouded by what just happened.

Also, he finds that he has to open his eyes.

What – _why?_

Everything stills. Michael didn’t step back, not exactly. He lifted his head, but he’s still standing close. His arms are hanging loosely by his sides. He’s still looking down on Tyler, that four inches difference in height, but the amusement is gone from his face. His eyes appear dark, strikingly so, impenetrable like shields that block out the light. As so many times before, it’s damn near impossible to tell what he is thinking.

Then again, it’s also a fair bit of a challenge for Tyler to figure out what he himself is thinking. It seemed clear to him a second ago, but suddenly for some unfathomable reason he mostly feels stupefied. In high dudgeon, yes – but mainly dumbfounded.

“I –“ He takes a breath, forcing down the mysterious whirlwind of emotions in his chest. “I think you should go now, Michael.”    

Never mind the fact that they are in Michael’s office, the little den he shares with the other assistant coaches. Much to Tyler’s surprise, Michael just gives a short, bemused nod and gathers his laptop without a word. He closes the door on his way out, but Tyler doesn’t even look up.

Michael’s reportedly pulled all sorts of crazy stunts over the years, but to cross such a line just to shut somebody up, Tyler thinks with something between disgust and amazement. Just because he might have hit a little too close to home or because you’re bored and curious to see what will happen? There really are no limits Michael won’t go to, trying to provoke him. Nothing is too weird or too outrageous for someone who’s used to getting away with just about anything.

And it worked out fine for him, too. The discussion was over the second he did – that.

The numbness in Tyler’s head is developing into a headache as the clock on the wall ticks and ticks and he knows he should head out of here. He’s supposed to meet Carol and it’s their anniversary today, too, but for once, Tyler longs for the solitude that Michael has always been known for being fond of.

He forces himself to leave the room, of course. He knows what’s better for him and staying might involve having to deal with the lingering and uncomfortable thought that Michael was proving a point when he kissed him – and he left Tyler to figure out which one.


	3. Three

III  

Over the years, Michael got to see Tyler in plenty of situations. He knows his movements when he walks onto the deck before a race, the tiny jerk of his head when he’s irritated with someone and how he rubs his forehead with his wrist when he’s dead tired. He’s seen him drunk, stoned, crying and making out with his girlfriend.

And without a doubt Tyler knows similarly intimate stuff about _him,_ Michael thinks. You can’t help that kind of thing when you’re teammates. Regardless of your relationship, whether you get along or not, whether you consciously keep track of it or not, you become familiar with each other’s little quirks and antics. 

So maybe it’s presumptuous, but when he accidentally finds himself watching trials for Barcelona and he’s presented with a Tyler unlike any he’s ever seen (pale, fidgeting, large bags underneath his eyes), Michael can’t help but think that _he_ might have something to do with that.

Or rather, what happened in the Natatorium a week ago might have something to do with it.

_Michael isn’t sure what he expected. They were fighting and he was getting in high spirits, armed with the knowledge fed to him about how Tyler really feels. The idea was suddenly there in his head: what a perfect measure to a) win this argument and get Tyler to shut up and b) to mess with his ignorant head some more. Even as he leaned in, he got ready for deflecting the punch Tyler was bound to aim at him._

_Except that the punch never came._

_Tyler’s lips are full and firm and yielding under the pressure of Michael’s own. The latter Michael ascribes to the fact that he probably just shocked the hell out of Tyler. There is no other way he would ever let Michael get away with this. He’s too surprised to do something about it right away or the realization of what’s happening hasn’t sunk in yet._

_Michael, too, is about to take notice of the specifics of what he’s doing and with whom only gradually. This is not a situation he’s pictured himself in – ever. Michael was at the verge of kissing a guy once before – or being kissed by one, rather – but that was a lifetime ago and he’s shied away from that kind of thing ever since._

_Possibly, he did this on the spur of the moment so he wouldn’t get to revisit his own idea. So now they’re both in unknown territory._

_It’s not so different from kissing a woman, he thinks and then decides that, at the same time, it’s the complete opposite. Michael associates kissing with shortage of breath, with feeling a bit dazed. But he’s never felt more awake than right now._

_Of course, that might be because there’s an ulterior motive behind it all. He isn’t doing this for either of them to enjoy themselves, but to teach Tyler a lesson, to make him face what’s been there all along underneath his weird fixation on Michael._

_Still, Michael’s preoccupied brain catches up with one or two things he wasn’t expecting, like how clean T_ _yler smells from the shower he took after practice or the larger than usual bone structure of the face he’s holding in his hands – an unconsciously applied gesture, also something he’d do kissing a woman. Even so, with that limited contact, he can feel the tension in Tyler’s frame and opens his eyes as if to check on him._

_Interestingly, Tyler’s eyes are closed._

Okay, _Michael thinks, feeling Tyler’s breath flutter over his skin, as this leaves him with a bit of a conundrum._ And now what?

_The thought ghosts through his mind, evoking silent laughter that echoes in his chest. He didn’t do a lot of thinking before he kissed Tyler, so he didn’t make any plans on where he wanted to go from there either._

_But since they’re here already, he can venture another little experiment just as well, he decides. All in the name of science so to speak and actually, he’s still waiting for that punch. So he pulls Tyler slightly closer, angling his own head to guide his lips apart. To his complete surprise, Tyler allows this as well. Their tongues brush against each other and the kiss gets a bit messier._

_For the first time, songs and literature describing a kiss as sweet make sense to him. Not in the poetic, figurative sense but in a very real way as if Tyler had eaten something sweet right before Michael reached for him. Protein shake with caramel flavor or something after training maybe._

_This is actually not completely unpleasant._

_Tyler is the one who breaks the kiss. There is an indignant spark in his eyes for a moment and Michael promptly expects be called any names Tyler can think of right now, but for whichever weird reason, none of that happens. Tyler looks him straight in the eye, but within heartbeats there’s no fire there anymore, not like earlier when they were arguing. He seems drained of energy, of his earlier assertiveness. Shaken – to the point where he can’t even ask what the fuck that was about._

And he still is.

Michael can see it in his face as it fills the TV screen, larger than life, just like he could see it that evening when he walked out of the room and left Tyler to his own consternation.

He’s lying on the bed, squinting ever so slightly when Win switches channels which fills the room with strangely familiar noises that are somehow so different from anything other sports events sound like. Michael dips his head back and catches a glimpse of blue. Upside down is not a comfortable way of viewing what’s happening over in Indy, he soon notices. So he rolls over onto his stomach without commenting on her choice of program.     

From the corner of his eye, he catches Win smiling as if she suspects that some kind of resolve of his just caved in, but when he turns his head to look at her, her eyes are glued to the screen as well. Still he has no doubt that she picked this channel for his sake.

One of the finals is on – Michael’s long-time signature event, no less. He recognizes the race without the commentators mentioning it and before anybody enters the water so he can identify the stroke. He watches Tyler get out of his training jacket and realizes that he has memorized the schedule for the week.

For the last three big international competitions (Rome, Shanghai, London), Michael and Tyler were always the two Americans who got to participate in the 200 fly. So now that Michael’s retired, it could be assumed that Tyler is a shoe-in not just for qualification, but for the top slot. Michael who has kept track of Tyler’s training results for the last two months is skeptical and rightfully so.

Some kid Michael has never even heard of wins this one.

When they interview Tyler immediately afterwards, it’s the first time Michael sees him up close in a week. He looks awful. He says he felt terrible. This is not going according to plan.

Win’s voice raises him from his thoughts. “Would you want to be there?”

Michael laughs at the question. “No!”

As usual, Club Wolverine sent a large contingent of athletes to the world Championship Trials. Michael was compelled to see them off, together with the rest of the staff that stayed in Ann Arbor. He was asked several times if he wanted to come along for moral support or whatever. _Like hell,_ Michael thought. And as it happens, some of the kids in his own training group have a competition coming up next week so he has a perfectly legal excuse to stay away from Indianapolis and spend some quality time with the woman who bit by bit becomes his girlfriend.   

“That’s over”, he says, trailing a hand down Win’s naked back.

She’s in a towel and not much else. Peroxide blonde hair falls around her shoulders. With her lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, he’s presented with a generous view of her large breasts. His hand travels up her shoulder and comes to rest on her cheek.   

So smooth, Michael can’t help marveling. So totally different from the slightly stubbly skin he touched a few nights back. He returns Win’s smile and wonders what she would say if he knew that the only person besides her he’s kissed in months was a guy, another swimmer, an individual that reportedly abhors him. There is no logical reason why the idea of touching Tyler right now appeals more to him than touching her.

Michael freezes when he realizes what he just thought. Where that one came from, he honestly can’t tell. And still this is a déjà-vu, almost. He remembers another hotel room, another blonde girl next to him and his thoughts revolving around Tyler. What was weird back then has become intelligible by now.

What really appeals to him, Michael rationalizes with no one privy to his explanations but himself, is the idea of Tyler being powerless to stop him. While Michael _did_ kiss him, there is no sexual undertone to his urge of touching Tyler again, not really. Tyler is a guy, that alone prevents any kind of physical desire. What happened wasn’t disgusting, but it wasn’t arousing, either. What he feels is part curiosity as to where this will lead, part aversion against Tyler lying to himself and venting his frustrations on Michael, part something else… something ugly, maybe.

Michael doesn’t consider himself a particularly cruel person. He is thoughtless sometimes where other people’s feelings are concerned, true. He’s also _played_ on other people’s feelings on occasion, who hasn’t? It’s part and parcel with being human.     

He’s aware that what he was watching on TV a minute ago is the fallout of what happened between them – maybe not the feeble result of the race, but Tyler’s worn-out appearance during the interview afterwards. Michael knows with the kind of certainty that can only be felt that he is the reason for that. The thought brings a much sharper sort of excitement than any hookup with Win or any other woman ever could.  

It’s Tyler’s mind, not necessarily his body, he wants to mess with. If one cannot be achieved without the other, so be it. And now that he’s realized that, there is no way back, Michael understands. The genie’s out of the bottle.

Now – and aren’t they establishing a pattern here – he only has to make sure Tyler gets it, too.


	4. Four

IV

For the past three years, his girlfriend has been the one Tyler would run to.

Carol is his tower of strength. They share practically everything. As a result, she has always had insight into his most private thoughts, his deepest insecurities. He would tell her about them himself, then have her console and encourage him.

Tyler is aware that some people would characterize that kind of behavior as whining and tell him to just man it up – but what’s the sense of keeping something inside that seriously bugs you? You’ll just end up having your woman wonder what could be the reason for your gloominess and if it comes to the worst, she’ll be blaming herself. It’s what happened with his parents’ relationship, his mother told him. His father would just have her guessing at what was wrong. In the end, that became one of the reasons why it didn’t work out between them.

So in a way, Tyler thinks he was lucky to have been raised by his stepfather instead – who taught him that not only was it all right to lean on other people in moments of doubt or weakness, but actually a sign of strength. And Carol perceives it as exactly that when he pours his heart to her in situations he finds difficult to handle. 

Trials, just to name an example – during the last ones he underwent, Tyler depended so much on his girlfriend’s support that he highly doubts he would otherwise have qualified for any event after how the 400 IM went. She was there all the way. She knew every bit of how important this was for him, how disappointed he was with the result, how much resentment he carried against Michael.

This time – she can’t know a thing.

A week ago, Tyler would have been pressed to think of anything he would deliberately keep from Carol, especially something that causes negative feelings for him. But that changed within the blink of an eye when Michael made a move at him – or whatever the hell he was playing at. Considering that the whole thing lasted not longer than a minute, it’s sure been taking up a lot of space in Tyler’s mind.

It’s not like he cheated, he reminds himself superficially. He’s not refraining from telling Carol because he’s afraid of suffering the consequences. She’d probably jump into Michael’s face if she knew he’d laid hands on her boyfriend. At any other time, Tyler might have laughed at the mental image of her decking Phelps, but it’s become tough to find his humor these days. He doesn’t exactly have a bad conscience or a sense of guilt, but it feels strangely similar to that.

He’s simply stunned by what happened to him. 

There were certainly times in his life when Tyler wished he were closer to Michael – when he was a freshman and Michael on his way to making Olympic history, when they were training together and Michael would pay him no more attention that he would the tiles in the pool, when he watched Michael’s friendship with Lochte go to shreds and he looked so unsettled and vulnerable at the Golden Goggles.

It goes without saying that getting _that_ close was not what he had in mind, then. For a variety of reasons, they had been interacting more frequently during the last months than ever before, but there was still an ocean of mutual resentment and irritation between them which was suddenly reduced to a thin veil in the approximate minute the kiss lasted.

 _The kiss._ Tyler winces. It seems weird to even call it that. Not just because of Michael’s more than questionable motivation, but because of how foreign the whole idea of kissing a guy is to Tyler’s mind. In his mental map of physical experiences, this is just not located in the same spot as kissing someone of the female persuasion. 

Still, in the wake of that enforced closeness, Tyler got to discover things about his nemesis he never thought he might learn. The feel of Michael’s breath on his skin, the controlled strength of his hands when he pulled Tyler closer, and the fluent movements of his lips as if he were all liquid underneath that disturbingly hot skin of his. Maybe that’s what always made him such a great swimmer.

In short, Tyler hasn’t processed this yet.

And it’s not exactly helping that the he’s at a meet and that the media are here, making references to Michael at each and every turn, it seems. What’s more: swimmers are doing the same thing. Or at least, that’s what it feels like for Tyler who seems to have developed a disturbing sixth sense of being able to catch Michael’s name coming up in completely random conversations every now and then.

Tyler can’t help wonder what Michael would think about being so present here, months and months after he officially withdrew from the scene. As a matter of fact, Bottom invited him to come along, but apparently it’s one thing for him to help teaching the Cubs, but another to show up at a competition stacked with former teammates. Either way, with those constant reminders, it’s practically impossible for Tyler to shake the thought of what happened and what kind of follow-up might be required here. He still has no clue about how to behave towards Michael when they’re both back in Ann Arbor. 

Not for a heartbeat does he entertain the thought that Michael harbors some kind of however twisted attraction to him. Michael isn’t into guys – or Tyler doesn’t know the first thing about his former teammate.

_And what do you know about whom or what he’s into?_

Unbidden, familiar faces rise before Tyler’s inner eye. Michael often did inspire strong feelings in other males: Chad LeClos’s starry-eyed demeanor, Ryan Lochte’s loyal friendship, Beren’s and Grevers’s protectiveness and even Milorad Cavic’s needling that never cancelled out his fascination. Tyler dismisses where this is leading. Michael’s life has been under the media’s electron microscope for so many years – if he was caught smoking dope, he’d sure been caught getting it on with guys at some point. Michael isn’t gay. He’s just being a reckless, disrespectful idiot. 

And he says the strangest things sometimes. The first night in Indianapolis, Tyler wakes up between three and four in the morning which is extremely unusual for him, even while on taper. Swimmers need their sleep. Maybe it’s the distance between them, the fact that he’s away from his familiar surroundings in Ann Arbor, but that’s when he recalls what Michael said at Jon’s birthday party.

The words come back to him like a distant echo somewhere in the back of his mind, although he didn’t even register them when he heard them the first time.

_“Why do you care if somebody else takes an active interest in me?”_

He’s not imagining things, is he? In the half-light of the room, beside his sleeping girlfriend Tyler props himself up on his elbows. Michael said that, he said _somebody **else**. _ He remembers that all of a sudden with 3 a.m. clarity. Since he was addressing Tyler directly, what he meant must have been somebody else than Tyler. While this could have been an unfortunate phrasing of words –

Does Michael think that _he_ is into _him?_

Tyler honestly has no clue what he could have done to give him that idea (unfortunate as the whole interview thing was, surely nobody can have missed the fact that he’s not particularly taken with Michael’s personality?), but then Michael’s always been a bit… different. Who can guess at what’s going on in his head? Black could be white up there for all Tyler knows – and white black. One thing is for certain, though: Michael’s become used to girls – _people_ maybe, Tyler thinks with a grimace – throwing themselves at him wherever he goes just because of who he is. So maybe he lost perspective completely by now? Maybe he got so conceited from all the attention that he just assumes that everyone is approachable to him, even the people he doesn’t actually want?

Or something else could be involved here. There was this one disconcerting moment at the Golden Goggles last year when they met in the washroom by chance and Tyler let himself be lured in for the tiniest of seconds by the unusual vulnerability Michael exhibited that night. He recalls the gaze of Michael’s eyes that felt like a touch on his back, how he looked up to meet it in the mirror with Michael standing behind him, how giddy that made him feel. He couldn’t guess at Michael’s thoughts then, but now he wonders if he was actually contemplating the possible outcome of making a move at Tyler right then and there.   

Maybe he was entertaining the idea ever since – when he provoked Tyler by checking out his times, constantly, when he answered Tyler staring at his hands at the dinner table with a lazy smile. And then at Canham the other night, he was putting it to the test – smiling, with that look in his hazel eyes that said _I know something that you don’t_. He wanted to see Tyler’s reaction, if he would – kiss him back.

Tyler exhales loudly before he remembers Carol being asleep. He quickly checks on her, but he hasn’t woken her up. He shakes his head, incredulously. It’s hard to say what scandalizes him more: that Michael came up with that one at all – or that he would willingly exploit somebody’s assumed feelings just out of curiosity. After all, he must at least have considered the possibility that they’d turn out to be genuine.

_“I know. You really have no fucking clue what’s going on.”_

The. Nerve. Of. It.

It’s difficult to go back to sleep after that belated discovery. He’s too embarrassed and outraged to calm down, even though he has the 200 fly of all races coming up the next morning – and the thought of missing out on very necessary sleep just because Michael’s off his rocker (or more than usual, that is) generates even more resentment which in turn keeps him awake until five. 

Consequentially, the next day doesn’t go as well as it could have. Tyler wins his heat ahead of Shields and Kalisz, then finishes second to Luchsinger in the final. He gets his act together and manages a decent swim in the 200 back the evening after. He also qualifies for the 400 IM but he can’t help thinking that this is more due to Lochte scratching that one than anything else. Hadn’t Ryan withdrawn, Tyler could very well have come up short _again_ – behind the reigning Olympic Champion and the boy rumored to be Michael’s heir apparent (at least, as far as the 400 IM is concerned).

As far as trials go, those have been unusual. Tyler feels relieved and downcast at the same time when he thinks of his swimming this week. Of course, Barcelona is still almost a month away. Training camp, the flight to Spain with the whole team, and more taper, are next on the agenda. The combination of a tight schedule and so much work left to do is putting a certain pressure onto his shoulders.

But the really strange thing is how all that recedes into the background at the thought of returning to Ann Arbor tomorrow. To where Michael and for sure some kind of confrontation await him, because Tyler is so not allowing that matter to rest.


End file.
